Break
Milo quickly grasped the meaning behind Steven's words.
Pushing open the door of the Church of St. John's Bar, a flurry of light and shadow rushed in, the air filled with the scent of sage and alcohol.
Milo weighed the heavy bag in his hand, walked past the professionally dressed men and women, and skillfully entered the corridor, placing the bag on the bar.
The bartender in uniform at the counter turned his head to look inside, and soon a man dressed as a manager came out, took out a tablet and swiped it. Milo patiently waited for him to settle the bill.
A Spanish song played in the bar, the female voice melancholic. Milo looked around, and when his gaze swept in a certain direction, it froze.
Inside the bar, a huge cross was embedded in the wall. Steven, dressed in a black shirt, sat in the center of the private room. He was blond and had black eyes. He was dashing and debonair. A group of glamorous young men sat around him.
When Milo saw him, he was being surrounded by people who were pouring him drinks, the spilled liquor sliding down his chin and into his neck.
In the dim, hazy light, Steven walked past the bustling crowd and met Milo's gaze, just as they were catching the beat of a melancholic Spanish song.
Milo looked away, but Steven smiled.
“I told you, we’ll see each other soon.” Steven walked to the bar, pulled up a long bench and sat down. Before Milo could speak, he picked up the bag Milo had placed on the bar and peeked inside. “Delivery every Sunday, just as punctual as ever.”
The bar manager glanced at the two of them and said somewhat awkwardly, "Well, that'll be 35,000 in total. Shall we settle in cash?"
Milo nodded: "Yes."
"Please wait a moment." The manager carried the bag inside.
Steven rested his chin on his hand and looked at Milo: "Since you're working for Miles, why bother running the business yourself? Just let him support you." As he spoke, he laughed, "Or do you just enjoy selling these kinds of sex toys?"
Milo turned to Steven: "I didn't expect Mr. Thornton to care about a commoner like me, even knowing exactly when I work."
Steven pursed his lips: "Well, you can't think of me as too naive. I wouldn't believe you have bad intentions just because we play a game of cards. I have to find out first."
Dried flowers hang from the chandelier of the Church Bar, and the wine list on the display screen changes with the light.
Steven snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the screen towards the bartender working behind the counter.
The bartender nodded, picked up the shaker, and the crisp tequila slid down the glass. Blue citrus liqueur and butterfly pea flower juice were added in turn, blending to create a mysterious and dreamy blue-purple hue. The liquid was slowly poured into a pre-chilled stemmed glass, with glistening teardrop-shaped dry ice crystals floating on the surface.
“La Llorona.” Steven pushed two fingers toward Milo, touching the bottom of the wine glass.
"Can't understand."
Steven smiled and said, "This drink is called 'The Weeping Woman,' which happens to be the same name as the song. Isn't that interesting?"
"It seems Mr. Thornton is a regular customer."
“At first, I didn’t think there was anything special about it, but everyone in the company started coming here, and over time, it became famous. But it does have something special, it’s not an exaggeration.” Steven said with a hint of regret. “It’s a pity that the person in charge of the bar never shows up, but I guess the person who can create this kind of atmosphere must be a beautiful woman. A very charming Spanish woman.”
Milo didn't respond.
Steven tapped his knuckles on the table, and in the ambiguous, slow-paced atmosphere, he said softly, "Would you do me the honor of having a sip? If you drink it, I might be willing to tell you a secret."
Milo glanced at Steven, picked up the glass of blue-purple liquor, and downed it in one gulp. It was spicy and sweet, a strange taste, but he didn't like it.
Just as he put down his glass, Steven suddenly leaned in, his voice low and his breath hot and wet: "Those two have been following you since you came into the bar. Look, you've been targeted by plainclothes cops."
Milo's eyelids twitched, and he quickly scanned Steven's gaze.
The bartender behind the bar was wiping the martini glasses, the glasses clinking together with a crisp sound. Two dark brown figures flashed past around the corner, deftly avoiding Milo's gaze.
"And he calls himself a good citizen?" Steven raised an eyebrow.
Milo lowered his eyes, his brows furrowed; being followed was something he hadn't expected.
Steven noticed Milo's serious expression and suddenly found it extremely amusing.
The manager came out again and handed Milo a bulging paper bag: "This is the order for next time. Some of the new products are selling quite well and we're in short supply. You can bring more next time."
"Okay." Milo took the paper bag, opened it, counted the contents, and skillfully stuffed it into his pocket. But because of what had just happened, he was unsure whether to go straight back.
Steven leaned against the bar, watching Milo's conflicted and troubled expression, and slowly said, "Scared? If you don't mind, I'll take you home, or you can come to my place to hide? I'm confident I can shake off these pests."
Seeing Milo frown, Steven laughed: "Like I said, I don't like to force people. Whether you come or not is up to you."
In the depths of night, the McLaren's headlights illuminated the dark green foliage on both sides of the mountain road as its wheels rolled over the wet, steep bends.
In the rearview mirror, Milo had a tense expression.
Steven laughed: "I didn't bully you, why are you so nervous?"
"I'm not nervous."
“Okay, if you say no, then no.” Steven pouted. “Actually, you really wanted to come, right? Especially without Miles keeping an eye on you. Sometimes, he can be really annoying, can he?”
Milo remained silent.
The car spun around and precisely stopped at the entrance of the townhouse. The driver quickly got out and opened the door. Steven stepped out, one hand on the roof, and glanced at Milo inside: "Now you can play freely. Don't worry about losing money. I'll reimburse you for all your games tonight."
Milo was somewhat surprised.
A disappointed smile appeared on Steven's usually dashing face: "Not even a hint of reaction from me?"
Milo looked up: "If we're going to bet, it'll be with you. But I won't lose if I bet with you."
Steven was taken aback, then his laugh was genuine: "You're actually quite an interesting guy."
When Milo entered the villa for the second time, he remembered what the waiter had told him: the party would last for several days, so the liveliness was not diminished at all.
The only difference is that there are fewer rich people now, and ordinary people are like rice husks floating on the water, impossible to ignore.
Steven temporarily left, saying he was going to retrieve the fine wines from the cellar himself. Milo stood alone on the rooftop of the villa, pondering how to glean as much useful information as possible while Steven was away.
A middle-aged man with graying hair, holding a glass of champagne, fixed his gaze on Milo, who was clearly distracted in the crowd. He silently moved closer, his eyes lingering on Milo's soft, delicate neck: "You came alone?"
Milo was in a bad mood and had no interest in dealing with it.
"What are you looking for?" The man climbed onto Milo's shoulder, applied pressure with his hand, and gave him a squeeze.
Steven suddenly reached out and stepped between the two, holding a bottle of wine, subtly placing Milo behind him: "Uncle Peter, stop joking around, he's taken."
The white-haired man gave a somewhat listless, awkward laugh: "What nonsense are you spouting?"
Steven blinked: "Once we get to Bethlehem, there will be plenty of good things for you to choose from. Aren't you afraid your wife will fight you if you cause trouble in Wudong Port?"
The white-haired man walked away somewhat awkwardly, without lingering.
Steven said dismissively to his retreating figure, "Old man."
Milo thought of what he had witnessed at the funeral home and thought to himself, "When it comes to moral depravity, you two are evenly matched."
"Are you insulting me?" Steven suddenly asked.
Milo smiled: "How could that be?"
Steven pursed his lips: "You really enjoy lying, but next time remember to make it more convincing."
Steven was eager to take him to play a game, but he was called away halfway through, as if something important had happened, and Milo was left behind.
After searching around and feeling utterly bored, Milo finally found the person he was looking for.
At the card table diagonally opposite, Ruan Jiaming, who arrived late, plopped down and plunged into the game. Not long after, he stood up grumbling, reluctantly giving up his seat to someone else. After leaving the gambling table, he gulped down a large glass of wine, then pounded his head with his hand, his face flushed, seemingly struggling with something.
A moment later, Ruan Jiaming whistled, beckoned the waiter who was taking orders to his side, asked for a bill, quickly scribbled something on it, and left at the waiter's prompting.
Milo watched his departing figure, confirming that he was indeed heading to the third townhouse. After glancing around to make sure Steven wasn't there and that no one had been assigned to follow him, Milo silently followed.
The ten-meter-high corridor was bathed in a soft, downy glow, while the air conditioning vents emitted cold mist. Fine water droplets left dark marks on the Italian marble walls, and several figures in snow-white protective suits pushed stainless steel freezers through the villa's corridor.
After the group left with the freezer, Milo followed the direction Blaze had led him in last time, half guessing and half trying as he walked down the corridor.
There were no security cameras on the first floor, something he'd noticed last time. Milo wasn't too surprised. After all, entering the villa required several layers of identity verification; if someone could get in, there was no need for further precautions. Of course, Milo felt it was more likely that if everything that happened here were recorded, the potential threat would far outweigh the obvious benefits.
Behind the tightly closed smart door, a glass window embedded in the center displays the temperature and humidity, with blue data jumping around.
Milo peeked inside and immediately saw what was happening inside the door.
The spotlights on the sterile operating table cast a bluish-white halo as a doctor in protective clothing and latex gloves removed a complete left kidney, with tiny air bubbles congealed on the cut surface of the kidney's blood vessels.
The human body lying on the stainless steel table has its chest cavity wide open, and only pale skin can be seen.
The incubator made a soft "click-click" sound, and the organs inside the test tubes remained a vibrant pink color in the liquid nitrogen gas, with even the tiny pulsations of capillaries visible on their surfaces.
Milo instantly got goosebumps.
He guessed right.
The third villa was the site of organ harvesting. The business listings distributed at those parties were cryptic details of organ trafficking. Buying meant purchasing organs, which the wealthy could afford to do; selling meant trafficking organs, where ordinary people, mired in a gambling trap, were "forced" into the trade.
Milo suppressed his emotions and quickly retraced his steps. Just as he stepped onto the spiral staircase leading to the middle villa, a white man suddenly grabbed the balcony railing and fled in a panic, crashing into Milo who was coming towards him.
Milo was knocked off balance by the impact, hitting not only his nose but also his spine against the railing. He was in so much pain that he broke out in a cold sweat.
With a loud "boom," dazzling fireworks erupted on the villa's terrace. The tempered glass door slid open silently, and a dark figure darted out, catching up with the fleeing man in just a few quick steps.
The man kicked the other man in the back, and the man cried out in pain as he fell down the stairs, his chin hitting the ground and bleeding profusely. He kept screaming, "Oh God! Please! No! No! No!"
Milo covered his nose, pressed himself against the railing, and saw the pursuer's face clearly. In that instant, even his breath caught in his throat.
Blaze was dressed in a standard uniform suit. He knelt on top of the man, the hem of his suit lifted by the draft, and swiftly pulled out handcuffs from his belt, cuffed the man's hands behind his back, and pulled him up by the arms.
The party reached its climax as fireworks lit up the sky and illuminated the spiral staircase.
Blaze noticed Milo's presence, a hint of surprise flashing across his face.
"I didn't see anything," Milo quickly explained, lowering his hand, and a stream of blood began to flow from his nose.
The man wailed, "Please tell Mr. Natawa that I will definitely pay off my debts, please give me a little more time! Of course, he will never know about those ships. The ones I helped you transport have already been disposed of, I—"
His voice gradually became shrill, and Blaze struck him hard on the back of the neck, causing the man's head to tilt and his mouth to shut.
Soon another group of people, also dressed in uniform, stepped forward and dragged away the man whose limbs were limp.
Milo stared in disbelief at everything, watching Blaise walk towards him against the light, his mind racing with uncontrollable questions: "Is he dead?"
Blaise remained silent.
Milo's mind went blank, and his limbs went numb. He could only comfort himself that he was probably not dead, and that what he had just witnessed looked more like a debt collection attempt.
Blaze shoved Milo's shoulder roughly and pointed up the stairs.
Milo had no choice but to continue upwards, his heart pounding with fear.
The top floor of the villa was bustling with people.
Fireworks, set off from the mountainside, rose in clusters, forming a crimson waterfall of smoke.
On the distant harbor beach, silver sand and coconut palms swayed in the breeze, sparkling like fireflies. Some people jumped up and looked up at the direction of the hilltop villa, cheering for the lavish fireworks display on the hilltop.
Amidst the cacophony, Milo absentmindedly turned to the side and looked diagonally downwards.
Several people in protective suits emerged one after another from the villa on the left. One of them was on the phone, and then, one by one, objects resembling temperature chambers were brought out.
A transport truck was parked next to the villa, and inside the door was a specially designed, sophisticated freezer. People in protective suits carefully placed the contents of small boxes into the freezer. The contents, tightly sealed in plastic, were clumps of flesh. Only after the freezer was full did the personnel in protective suits return to the villa.
Milo broke out in a cold sweat and quickly memorized the license plate number.
As the truck door closed, Milo noticed that the exterior of the truck's freezer was engraved with white fluorescent paint, resembling a pattern of wheat ears and snakes.
Those tassels... Milo shifted his gaze back, his heart pounding.
The dazzling fireworks that illuminated the night sky overlapped in layers. Milo looked up at Blaise beside him, whose wheat stalk tattoo on the side of his neck looked like thorns.
He was almost certain that it was the same pattern.
Noticing Milo's gaze, Blaise lowered his head slightly.
Milo was startled, and immediately forced a smile to hide his true feelings.
Blaise's eyes flickered slightly, his gaze shifted downwards, and then he silently looked away.
Milo noticed that the hearing aid he was wearing this time seemed different from his usual hearing aids; it looked like an in-ear Bluetooth headset, which probably meant that he was now collaborating with someone on a mission and communicating.
He is very busy.
If that's the case, why is he still following him around?
Blaze suddenly reached out his hand, and Milo instinctively tried to dodge, but his back stiffened with fear. He felt Blaze pinch his nose with a tissue.
Milo then realized that there were drops of blood dripping from his nose on the front of his shirt, but it had dried by now.
Milo reached out and took the tissue from Blaise, feeling a slight pain as Blaise pinched his nose, and instinctively winced in pain.
Blaise released his hand, raised it as if to express something, but the hand gesture quickly turned into adjusting his headphones. He frowned slightly, turned and left without hesitation.
Milo stared intently at Blaise's retreating figure.
After confirming that he had disappeared, Milo rushed down the spiral staircase until he reached a lawn where no one was standing. He leaned against a palm tree, held his breath to calm himself, and then took out his phone to dial a number.
The moment the call connected, Milo said urgently, "I think I've found a key clue about the organ trade."
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